


Things Harry Found Out about Ginny He Never Thought He'd Learn

by idkman07



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, fluff fluff fluff, ginnys sassy because it's her true form, literally so much fluff its nauseating, these two deserve more fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-01 21:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14529669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idkman07/pseuds/idkman07





	Things Harry Found Out about Ginny He Never Thought He'd Learn

The first thing he learned about living with Ginny is that she is _grumpy_ in the morning.

Like, seriously grumpy. He thought he was bad, but he had absolutely no idea the wrath he’d have to face whenever she had to wake up before eight. She was always so wild and alive at night, giggling into her pillow and dancing around their flat, but in the morning, he doubted even a thousand pygmy puffs would be enough to get her out of bed without grumbling. She always came into the kitchen, feet dragging, making a cup of coffee without so much as a good morning in his direction as he watched her amusedly behind the Daily Prophet. And she would vaguely look in his direction and say something like _Why do you still read that load of shite, Harry, everyone knows you can’t trust it,_ because she’s used to it spreading rumors about him in school or on the run. But they’re not in school anymore, and he’s not on the run, they’re _finally_ together, but he knows she would groan and swat him away if he tried to kiss her right now, so he doesn’t. And when she finally finishes making her coffee (without milk and sugar, which he finds appalling, but she always claims there never was any around the Burrow as one of her brothers always used it up) she pulls the chair out across from him and flops down, her knees tucked into her chest as she holds the steaming cup on top. And her hair, always claiming she’s going to cut it but never finds the time, falls in front of her face and since her hands are occupied holding the cup she always let out a big puff of air, only succeeding in the hair floating forward for a second before lying back where it was. And she sighs exasperatedly, her eyes flitting over to him when he makes a noise between a snort and a chuckle. And he’s watching her, giving her _that_ look, the look she always dreamed he’d give her when she was younger but never imagined was actually possible. And she grumbles something like:

“What?”

But she _knows_ what, because he’s already told her that she is possibly (undoubtedly) the most adorable thing he’s ever seen, cuter than a thousand pygmy puffs, even, so he just smiles at her, a small smile with a hint of teeth, and goes back to his paper. And now she’s annoyed, because even though she knows what, she’d like to hear him say it. So she sets the coffee down and slightly waltzes over, her bare legs reflecting in the sun streaming in through the curtains, and kneels down so her elbows are on the table and her thigh brushes against his. And he doesn’t look at her, refuses to look at her because what’s the fun in that, and she studies the side of his face and the stubble growing on the underside of his jaw. And she reaches out and swipes a strand of jet-black hair higher on his head, smiling at the catch in his breath.

“Harry.” She breathes, the sound traveling up his neck and she absolutely delights in the goosebumps that appear. “I forgot what a real grump you are in the morning.” And that makes him laugh full heartedly, possibly (undoubtedly) her favorite sound in the world, and she takes the opportunity to climb into his lap and settle down into a pile of limbs. And _now_ he’s looking at her, she’s got him, not that blasted paper, and even though he’s grinning the look never wavers. Sometimes he looks at her for so long she can’t take it anymore, so instead she trails a line of kisses from his neck up to his cheekbone, past his stupidly green eyes, to his nose, and then finally, his lips, which are already open and waiting for her. But they don’t kiss like they do at night. Their kisses in the morning are soft, stable, meaningful. And then they hear the slam of a door outside, and she practically jumps from his grasp, rambling about how she’s going to be late and he shouldn’t distract her like that, for Merlin’s sake, he _knows_ she’s on a schedule. He doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t need to. He drags his thumb thoughtfully over his lips and when he blinks, he sees her hair.


End file.
